A Holiday, Ruined
by NellyNoob96
Summary: Clint and Natasha are meant to have a quiet holiday, just the two of them. Deep down, they knew that'd never work out. Eventually sees the whole team.
1. Chapter 1

Hello. I've been away for a week and worked on this every night. I have a second and third chapter almost finished and at the ready, but they will definitely not be the last ones. I hope you like it and sorry if I messed anything. Rated T for blood and possible violence and maybe some later chapters. Thank you!

Disclaimer: Not me, even though I wish it was.

The sunset, it seemed, had been going on for days. Still, Natasha stared at it it little while longer. Clint's arm was draped around her shoulders and they were lain on the white-gold sand of a long stretch of beach. The sunset was orange and pink, warmth spreading over the sky. At the water's edge, tiny crabs scuttled in and out of the lapping foam. The place was beautiful; gold and green and blue and orange. Even the scent was delightful; full of salt and ripe fruits and coconuts. It was possibly the most romantic place in the world.

And Natasha was bored.

She shuffled in Clint's arms and scratched her stomach. He chuckled and rested his cheek on Natasha's head, pressing a kiss into her hair. A crab the width of an inch danced and clicked at her toes and she poked it away.

"How long's the sunset been?" She asked.

Clint sighed.

"I dunno, couple of hours?"

Natasha wriggled her shoulders. Stopped staring at the sunset. Stopped watching the little creatures frolic. She turned instead to face Clint.

"Really? Couple of hours?"

He nodded and she huffed. Natasha stood up and walked a few metres to the tips of the waves. The cool water washed over her feet. Their once-a-year vacation had gotten off to a pretty good start. They were given the chance to go anywhere in the world they wanted, and Clint had suggested the Bahamas. Cosy cottage on an island in the middle of nowhere, not a single person with whom they were forced to socialise, fresh food, sun, sand, sea, and- of course- sunsets.

"You liked the sunset the other day."

"No, Clint, I didn't mind it the other day. It was fun because we went scuba-diving and you swum into that shoal of pissed off fish, and it was exciting when we climbed the tree and watched from there; but I do mind a sunset that lasts for a couple… of… hours. OK?"

"Yes." He said miserably, rolling his eyes to glare the other way.

Natasha kicked at the sand while Clint stared up at the godforsaken sunset. Four weeks. Two weeks of holiday hadn't sounded long enough by half to Clint. Surely they'd need more time than that just to get used to the lack of constant babbling voices and angry targets pointing guns to their heads. Not to mention spending time with eachother away from the mess of the real world. So when the friendly girl behind the desk offered to extend the two-weeker to a four-weeker, Clint jumped at the chance. That had been six days ago. Only six days in and already Natasha was bored and cranky- and Clint was facing the brunt of it. He sighed and sat up, staring blankly at the back of Natasha's head.

"Nat…" he said after a few minutes. "What does that look like to you?"

He pointed into the sky on the horizon. A black dot stood out in the ochre and crimson. Natasha peered at it. It seemed to be getting closer by the second. The space around it trembled and fluttered.

"It's not a bird," Clint said, "because it hasn't moved from a dead straight path in five minutes. Not a dip, not a waiver, nothing."

Natasha peered some more.

"I can't really tell, Clint."

"Does it look like… an aircraft, to you?"

"Oh, yeah! That's… what it is."

The craft was getting bigger as they spoke and they frowned in sync.

"But who would be coming here, of all places?" Clint said.

"Maybe Fury needs something." Natasha suggested, not at all sounding confident in her idea.

"Fury said he'd go to another agent if something was wrong."

As he finished speaking, Natasha looked up from where she had anxiously been picking at her nails.

"So who's that?" She asked. Clint stared at her for a long second.

"Trees." He said suddenly and bluntly.

In response, she jumped up and the two of them bolted from the beach and into the foliage of the nearby forest. The craft was a mile or so from the island now and Natasha- from her branch a few metres off the ground- could see clearly that it was a helicopter, the air around it whizzing from the propellers. Then the helicopter was lowering onto the sand, spraying granules in all directions. The trees bucked and swayed under the wind, Natasha clung for dear life to her branch. A yelp of pain rang out and Natasha batted leaves out the way to see Clint rubbing his cheek where a thin twig had left a long laceration.

"Clint!" She hissed. "Clint! Friend or foe?"

"I don't know." He said, as men in black began to pour out of the helicopter.

Each held a machine gun that looked capable of serious damage, and they spread across the beach. High in his own tree across from Natasha's, Clint waved his arm to get her attention.

"We need to get out of here." He mouthed.

Natasha nodded and began to scale the tree to the floor. When her feet hit the soil, Clint leapt down to join her. They turned and pelted deeper into the forest. The air got colder, the bushes thickened, and the visibility rapidly lowered. A metallic rumbling trailed after them as they sprinted. Without pausing for breath, Clint rummaged in his jacket pocket, at last finding his mobile phone.

"What are you doing?!" Natasha screeched, leaping over a moss-drenched log.

"I'm calling Coulson!" shouted Clint.

"No! We can…"

Gunfire echoed in their ears and shots sped ahead of them to bounce off rocks and tree trunks. Natasha and Clint wrapped their arms protectively around their heads as best they could and willed their legs to move faster. She'd been about to say they could handle it themselves. It was usually her job to convince people, to persuade them- and a lot of the time, Clint was her guinea pig. She had manipulated him and many others into doing as she said thousands of times before; making Clint understandably wary. He had insisted that, instead, the two of them always talk about things together. But in this situation there was no time for talking. And maybe they couldn't handle it? They had been so unprepared…

"This was supposed to be our holiday…" was all Clint managed to growl before Natasha grabbed his arm and spun him down into a small cavern. Clint blinked and looked around in the dim light. They were crouched between two rocks beside the bank of a roaring river. The gunfire had cut off and the jungle was eerily quiet around them. Natasha was panting beside him.

"Alright! Call him!"

Clint hadn't even had time to dial the number before a pair of thick, black boots stalked into view in front of the cave. Natasha shrunk back into the wall, pulling Clint with her. Their backs pressed against the solid rock and Natasha held her breath. The muddy boots twisted in the grass so the steel-capped toes faced towards them. Clint's fingers froze on the mobile keys. All they had to do was look down… Clint turned Natasha's face to his own and pressed his finger against his lips. She nodded once.

The boots suddenly walked heavily out of sight, kicking up mud and leaves. Natasha didn't dare let out her breath. The forest was still. No gunfire, no footsteps, no metallic rumbling. Clint could hear his heartbeat.

They saw it together. A silver barrel poking out of a thistle bush. Poking out of a thistle bush and straight at their little cave. The gun all but glinted in their eyes.

"_Feuer_," came a voice, and what had been said registered with Clint nearly too late.

He slid in front of Natasha.

Her eyes were clamped shut. She heard the shot go off, she was sure of it. It had rung in her ears and rippled through her jaw. So where was the pain, the pain she had gotten so accustomed to over her years as an assassin? Her brain kicked in and during the slow second that passed, her memory whizzed through. The last thing she remembered was Clint moving to in fr- oh. Clint.

Her eyes shot open. He was lain in Natasha's lap, clutching the right side of his chest, close to his shoulder. His face scrunched up in pain and a long moan escaped his lips. Then a unique series of curses, one of them Russian. Natasha smirked and pushed him gently upright.

The river was chaotic now. The sudden serenity had vanished after the gunshot and Natasha could barely make out individual people. They all ran and jumped and bumped into eachother. The group that had spilled out of the helicopter had doubled, no, tripled in size- one hundred, maybe two hundred. A group of about twenty shuffled into a semi-circle in front of the rocks, ten or fifteen feet away. Every man pointed a gun right at them. The boots stood in the middle of the circle, and the man wearing them held his hands behind his back.

He smiled sadistically. The stationary soldiers smiled too.

Clint was leant back against the cave wall again and Natasha moved her body over his as much as she could, her eyes not leaving Boots'.

"S'okay, Nat." Clint mumbled. "S'just my shoulder."

She peeled back his bloody fingers. There was a messy wound deep in the fleshy part in the front of his shoulder, too close to his chest for her liking. It wasn't a perfect hole- the flesh was torn and mashed, and Clint's hand had spread the blood up to the crook of his neck.

"Just stay still, Clint."

"_Aufstehen!"_ Shouted the man in the boots.

Natasha groaned internally. It was German. She knew Russian, French, Spanish, Italian, Dutch; and ten more- but no German.

"'_Stand up_." came a small voice from her side.

"What, Clint?"

"He said _'Stand up'_."

Natasha mouthed 'oh' and nodded slowly. She turned to face the guns.

"He can't get up! He's hurt!" She shouted. "No thanks to you." She added under her breath, Clint nudged her with his elbow. The men muttered awkwardly to eachother at the sound of her voice.

"They don't understand you, Nat. And I'm fine, it's just my arm!" Clint hissed. He clasped her shoulder and pulled himself up onto his knees. He nodded once reassuringly.

"_AUFSTEHEN!_"

"We'd better get up, Nat. He's getting pissed."

Natasha swallowed and stood, ducking up and out of the cave. She stood straight and puffed out her chest, raising her chin when she felt Clint's side press against her own.

"Translate for me, Clint." She whispered.

"What?"

"Translate." She said and stepped slightly towards the soldiers. They took a step back. A few cocked their guns.

"Who are you?" Natasha called to no one in particular. Silence. She glared at Clint.

"Oh, right! Um, _wer bist du_?!" He translated. The man in the middle chuckled and replied in German.

Clint paused. "His name is Kreiptkof. He is the leader."

"Of what?"

"… He didn't say."

Natasha gulped. "What do you want?" She addressed Boots- no, Kreiptkof. Clint translated fluently and Kreiptkof replied.

"'You'."

"Me?"

"No, us. The both of us."

"Why?"

"_Warum_?" Clint shouted.

Kreiptkof laughed loudly and stepped across the flatted grass towards them, painfully slow.

Then he spoke, his voice hoarse and low and twanged with an accent, "Now…" he smiled. "…that would be telling."

Something sharp collided with the back of Natasha's head, her vision went dark and her head hit the ground. She faintly heard someone shouting her name and pulling on her hand, but then all she wanted was sleep and she quickly blocked out the sounds.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you very much for all the favourites, follows and reviews! I'm glad you like it. I'm yet to finish the third chapter, so it might be a longer wait for an update, I'm sorry. Enjoy this chapter, though! X

Disclaimer: I don't own this. I only own the plot, and characters you don't recognise.

Natasha gasped, huffing air in and out of her lungs in total blackness. The sound of her rasping breath bounced back to her from solid masses somewhere in the dark. She tried to steady herself; calm herself. Her hands were bound above her head and her toes didn't touch the floor. She was overcome with the sensation of falling. Icy cold air brushed over the bare skin of her neck and her thighs, and she shivered. She hadn't expected pitch black. Her unconscious had probed the idea of imprisonment and pain and hunger, but not pitch black.

She had never like the dark, believe it or not.

"Hello? A-anyone there?"

She could hear a quiet dripping of water; drip, drip. And a low rumbling passing overhead.

"Hello?"

Something rattled to her left and Natasha turned towards it to see a thin sliver of light illuminating what looked like a stone wall. The sliver widened, accompanied by another rattle of a chain.

Great, she was a prisoner.

"H-hello?"

A small girl crept out of the dark. The light caught the left side of her face and Natasha could clearly make out a jagged scar running over her cheek bone and closing the corner of her mouth. Natasha pulled against her binds and backed away as the girl inched closer. She looked about nine years old, her long, greyish-brown hair plaited in two braids. Natasha couldn't quite see what the little girl was wearing, but the sound of fabric dragging on the floor made her think a long dress. The girl made no sound, just shuffled closer. She ran a hand over Natasha's cotton shirt, smiling as her fingers touched the fabric.

"Please." Natasha whispered. "Let me free."

The girl flinched at her voice and stumbled backwards.

"No! No, please." Natasha pleaded.

The girl tiptoed forward again, her hand instantly going to the hem of her shirt.

"Do you want it? D-do you want my shirt?"

The girl peered up at Natasha in the dim illumination from the ever growing sliver of light. She smiled again, shyly this time, and gave a tiny nod.

"You can have it. Just let me down." Natasha urged softly, rattling the chains binding her hands to show the girl.

She seemed to ponder for a second, whether or not this redheaded woman before her was safe, and if she would really give her her clean, warm shirt. She must have decided in Natasha's favour, because she leapt forward and attacked the lock with her nails. Minutes later and Natasha collapsed to the floor, welcoming the cold, hardness of it. She rubbed the back of her head to feel dried blood stuck to her hair.

"What happened…?" She softly moaned to herself.

"They hit you."

It took Natasha a few moments to realise it was the little girl who had spoken.

"As far as I know, they hit you." Her voice was scratchy and high, and she spoke in broken sentences- long pauses between words. She wasn't English, or American. Her words had a very prominent accent. Russian, maybe?

"Ok… Where's my friend?" She asked slowly.

The girl stared at her, pursing her lips.

"They took him."

"What? Who took him?!" Natasha's voice rose and the girl looked terrified. Natasha took a chance. "I'm sorry. извините. Who took him, возлюбленный?"

The girl glanced up, surprised at Natasha's perfect Russian tongue. She laughed silently, her mouth moving gracefully as she chuckled. She seemed more at ease knowing that the woman could speak her first language.

"привет." She greeted. "They took the friend of yours to-" Her voice dropped to a whisper, "- Strafe."

"That means…" Natasha racked her brain until she found the time two years ago when Clint attempted to teach her German. "'Punishment'." Natasha breathed, her eyes wide. "But why?"

The girl suddenly backed away, slamming into what sounded like a wall, and whimpering.

"I cannot tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because I do not know. I only know what my family pass on to me, and they tell me nothing else."

Natasha sighed. "Who are your family?"

"They are the servants who run after the bosses. They take care of business. They hear things."

"And who are the bosses?"

The girl didn't say anything. In the light, Natasha saw her bow her head into the wall.

"Kreiptkof?" Natasha suggested and the girl flung herself across the room. She landed on Natasha's chest and crushed her into the floor, lowering her face to the woman's.

"Do not say his name!" The girl hissed. "Say his name and they will come. They will come and they will kill us both!"

Natasha raised her hands to surrender beside her head and repeatedly whispered a Russian apology. The girl slid off her and crouched a metre away, her head in her hands. Natasha sat up cross-legged.

"Why will they kill you too?" She whispered after a moment.

"I steal from the bosses." The girl looked up. "I was hungry! My family too! My baby brother needed food!"

"I understand, I understand."

Natasha raised her hands again and this time she noticed the way the girls eyes moved to her shirt every time it fluttered.

"Oh! You wanted my shirt. OK."

Natasha pulled her light blue shirt up and over her head, handing it out to the girl. "And what's your name, возлюбленный?"

The girl looked from Natasha's face to her shirt and back again, taking in how the woman was now just in shorts and a vest and must have been freezing. She hesitantly reached out and clasped the shirt.

"Kattar. My mama used to call me Kat."

"Used to?"

The girl looked solemn. "Mama died trying to get food for my brothers and sister."

"I'm sorry. My mother died too, you know."

The girl met Natasha's eyes and frowned sadly. Natasha cleared her throat, holding back the tears from her eyes.

"Well, hello, Kat. I'm Natasha."

"I know. Your friend was shouting for you when they put you in here."

Natasha's smile sunk and she stared at the floor. "Will… will he be okay?"

She heard Kat sigh as she snuggled into the shirt. "I am afraid I do not know. In Strafe, some survive, some don't. Is he a strong man?"

"The strongest."

"Then he will be OK, Natasha." Kat smiled widely and Natasha smirked. The girl watched her for a few minutes, trailing her eyes up and down her body. She knew barely anything about the redheaded woman and had been scared at first, but she could already tell that she had heart. She cared for the man who was brought here with her, and he cared for her. Kat had been awake when they bound the unconcious Natasha, she was crouched low in a dark corner. A rusty chandellier of candles had lit up her friend's face- he was covered in blood and a bruise was forming on his cheek. He was shouting one name over and over: Natasha! Then they'd knocked him out and dragged him away. That's what her grandfather had done to her father when her mother's body had been found. He had struggled and cried out and screamed, until she handed her grandfather a wooden pan. Natasha's friend had acted the same way.

Maybe he loved Natasha the way her father had loved her mother… she hoped so. Kat smiled.

"Now!" Kat shouted all of a sudden, jumping up and scaring the life out of Natasha. "Let's get you out of here."

"What? You can you that?"

"Of course I can! I have seen so many people escape these chambers, I can surely do it too!" Kat laughed.

"So you've never actually escaped, then?"

"No… but it's easy! You just have to think about it! So many people have escaped!"

"Yes, you said. And what happened to them afterwards?"

Kat groaned softly and turned to look at the wall Natasha had been hung from. A box had been carved into the stone and clumps of straight lines were scratched in it, separated into their own little boxes. With shock, Natasha realised what it was. It was a tally chart.

"They are chased… and they are hunted. The bosses make a game out of it." Kat said quietly.

Natasha mused this over in her head.

She could run and she could fight, kill; she could get out. But could the little girl? She was so thin, her arms and legs were bony and gangly and looked so weak. She couldn't be responsible for the death of a girl so young.

Not again.

But the girl was fast. She had shot across the room so quickly even Natasha's assassin eyes had almost missed her, and she could hide well too. Natasha sighed in frustration.

"Kat. We won't go right now."

Kat shot around from where she was inspecting what looked like metal bars.

"What?! Why not?" She screeched and Natasha put her finger on her lips.

"We have to make them think we have no plans on escaping. We have to let them think we're gonna buck up and sit tight. They'll come for me soon, but its unlikely that they'll kill be if I don't talk. Then I can look for a way out. Right now, we need to work out a plan."

Over the next six hours, Natasha and little Kattar scribbled away on the dusty floor. Natasha inspected the iron gate and rusted locks until she found a way to crack the locks off. Kat squeezed her arm through the bars to reach a discarded candle the other side. Natasha found a hairpin tucked away in the corner of the cell, bent and covered in copper. Kat lifted her long skirt and let fall a bent tin cup and a half-empty box of old matches. Natasha ripped off the end of the candle and rolled it in her palm until it was soft, flattening it like a pancake and squashing it along the concrete the opposite side of the bars. A plan appeared detail by detail in the dust, and Kat stored the collected items in a petticoat pouch under her dress.

The girl babbled on about how she had seen her brothers scale the wall and leap to another, without making so much as a scuffle.

Speak of the devil and the devil shall appear: dead on eight 'o' clock, as the bells began to chime, a boy of about fourteen crept up to the cell. He had greyish-blonde, shoulder-length hair and the same dark eyes as Kat.

"Kat! Kat, are you there?!" He whispered into the pitch black of the room.

"Cato?"

Kat ran from where she was slumped against Natasha's shoulder, reading, to grab her brother's shirt.

"Cato!"

He pulled her up to him and they hugged through the metal bars.

"How are you, Kattar?" Her brother grinned, his voice quiet. He didn't seem too interested in his answer; kept looking around the stone hallways anxiously.

"I am coping, Cato. How is papa? And Grandpa? And Tia, and Christian?"

"They are well, they are well. Kat, I brought you bread."

Cato produced a loaf of bread from underneath his coat and the warm, luscious smell reached Natasha's nose instantly. Her mouth watered.

"Cato! You shouldn't have, thank you."

Kat stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. At the bottom of a shutter door at the top of a flight of stairs across the corridor, a light flickered and hushed voices echoed.

"Cato, go! They'll catch you!" Kat cried, releasing his shirt.

The boy thrust the loaf into her hands and to Natasha's surprise, looked into the darkness straight at her.

"привет, whoever you are. And they'll never catch me, Kitty Kat. до свидания, sister."

He ran off the way he came, his bouncing shadow retreating to nothing. Kat placed the bread beside Natasha.

"Cato, my oldest brother." She mumbled.

"He seems lovely."

Kat shrugged and broke off a corner of crust.

"Treasure him, Kat." Natasha said. "You don't know when you could lose him."

Kat nodded, fire in her eyes.

Then, suddenly, two men were stood outside the cell. The dancing shadows from the candles cast shadows over their dark faces, and Kat sunk into Natasha, pushing the bread behind her. The one on the left was a Corporal, by the medals and badges on his chest. They were both clad in army uniforms, not a single imperfection. The man on the right was rolling a knot of rope around his fingers.

"Romanoff." The German Corporal said. "How did you get out of your chains..?"

His eyes moved to Kat. "Was it you?"

"I got myself out." Natasha said, standing and nudging Kat, still curled on the floor, back with her foot.

"Hmm." The Corporal stepped forward so his nose was almost touching the bars. "Better come with me then, Romanoff."

Natasha swallowed and glanced down at Kat.

She whispered, "Hide the bread."


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you again for the reviews and favourites and follows! I'm very grateful. This chapter is my first cliff-hanger… _sort of. Not really. _But I hope you like it. It, I think, is a lot longer than the other chapters? I don't know. Anyways, read and review! Thanks. x

Disclaimer: Not meeee.

The soldiers roughly pushed her down a series of winding corridors.

The floor was cold through her dirty old sneakers and the hairs on her now bare arms were raised. There was the dripping noise again- water falling somewhere close. The low rumbling was louder too, getting more intense just overhead and then fading away again. The men kept firm grips on her arms, nails digging into her skin. She could hear a growing hum of energy and the clanking of metal on metal. She was pushed into a long corridor. Trembling lights lined the way, and the floor was shiny and metallic- a polar opposite to her jail cell. There were several doors each side and each had a number and a word painted squarely above it. She translated them as they passed; '1: Anger management', '3: Denial', '4: Food hall', more she couldn't understand.

She almost stopped in her tracks when she read door number thirteen: 'Strafe'. Punishment. Her breathing quickened, loud enough to give away her position in a quiet situation, and she prayed the men holding her didn't notice. As they passed Door 13, a howling scream rang out from behind it. Natasha whimpered and stared wide-eyed at the metal panel holding Clint from her. The soldiers shoved into her and moved her on. Another scream rang out; painfully long and gut-wrenching.

She was thrown through a door, she didn't check the name or the number, and landed hard on the floor. She huffed the wind out of her lungs and looked up. They had thrown her in an office. Before her was a heavy desk cluttered with rock paper weights and pens lined in size orders. A half-eaten apple was speared to the corner with a long knife. The wall behind it was one window, looking out onto snowy mountains and a shaky cable car running between them. The hum of energy had stopped and the room was eerily quiet.

Natasha was breathing heavily and she stood, wiping her sweating hands on her shorts.

"Natasha Romanoff."

Natasha turned to an armchair in the far corner.

Kreiptkof sat low in the seat with his hands clasped together, smiling as he was on the island. His almost white irises seemed to pierce Natasha's skin and, even when he glanced away to stand up, she had a horrible feeling she was being watched. He stalked over to the window-wall and sighed, watching a cable car shake and rock along the line into an opening on a distant mountain.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Natasha scoffed. "If you like that sort of thing."

He turned his head to look at her and he was smirking. She raised her chin and inhaled deeply.

"Where am I?"

Kreiptkof laughed and sat down at his desk, motioning for her to sit in an old woven chair opposite him. Natasha hesitantly sat.

"Where am I?" She repeated.

"You are in the Alps, my friend…"

"I'm not your friend."

"Mm. You are in the Alps at my… base. Know this; although it is old, it is tough. No one can break in and no one out. " A smile suddenly leapt onto his face. "Just thought I would tell you now, get it over with." His smile widened. "I… am Kreiptkof."

"I know."

"Ah, yes, he told you, didn't he?"

It wasn't a question, more of a reassurance that he was right. Natasha nodded, her head spinning at the mention of Clint. Kreiptkof stared at her for a long moment, and then stood so fast that Natasha jumped.

"You probably want to know why you're here…" The man slithered around his desk and hovered at her side. "I won't tell you right now." He ran his calloused hands along her collar bones and over her shoulder, leaning in to whisper in her ear. "But you'll find out… soon enough."

He stood and walked back to the window, yanking the apple off the table as he did, leaving Natasha sweating and feeling disgusting after his rotten breath had flown all over her face.

"That is all. You may go back to your cell. I hope you feel at home in there."

He flashed her a smile and took a bite from the apple. Her escorts grabbed her arms and pulled her out the door.

"How do you know who I am?!" She shouted as she was dragged into the corridor. "Tell me! Tell me!"

The door slammed in her face.

Her head hung, until Kat's voice in her head reminded her of her mission: look for a way out. She watched each door carefully, looking for pickable locks or lonely hatches or trap doors.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

With horrible realisation, Natasha knew that the only way they would escape… whatever it was, they would have to waltz right out the front door.

A shout brought her back. She looked up at the men holding her. They both stared blankly forward, and Natasha scolded herself for not noticing before that the Corporal and his right hand man were gone. Holding her now, were two boys. They looked so much younger, skinnier and weaker than the others.

They were walking past door thirteen. That's where the shout had come from. Natasha squeezed her eyes shut.

She promised Kat, she promised Kat. She promised she would go back for her.

"I'm so sorry, Kat." She whispered. "I'll come back for you. удача, возлюбленный."

When one of the soldiers turned to ask her what she said, she tipped her legs backwards and upwards. The front flip twisted the boys' arms around and they both cried out. She slid out of their grip and spun around to knock one on the chin with her fist. A crunch rippled through her hand and the boy clutched his jaw in pain. The other tried to grab her from behind, but she head-butted him in the nose and connected her fist with his skull. He slumped, unconscious, to the floor. She turned to the one with the shattered jaw. He cowered away from her into the wall, and whimpered. Natasha paused, stared at him apologetically, and knocked him out in one swift blow.

She pushed the limp bodies against the wall and glanced around, before opening Door 13 and rolling them in. The room was lighter than the dungeon, and much bigger. It was freezing cold. Natasha wrinkled her nose. There was a horrible smell, like waste. No, decay. She moved the two bodies aside with her foot and crept forward. There was a table to her left, covered with thick knives and what looked like leather strips. Hung on the wall above it were… They were making whips.

A barred window at the ceiling let in light and Natasha squinted around. Long panels of wood split the room into sections and she hesitantly peered into one.

"Hello? Anyone in here?" She whispered.

She heard a sudden shuffling sound, then rattling, and then a pair of eyes lurched into view. Eyes, wide and milky. Natasha gasped.

"кто там?" A boy's voice.

She frowned, she had heard his voice somewhere before. She groaned quietly and ran a hand over her face, tiptoeing closer.

"'привет, whoever you are'…" she repeated Kat's brother's greeting.

Someone caught their breath.

Natasha closed her eyes. "Cato?"

"Yes. I'm here."

"What are you doing in here?

"You were in the dungeon with my sister."

"Yes, I was. Why are you in here?"

The light caught Cato's face when Natasha got closer. His sandy hair was dirty and his cheek was cut. He was bound and hanging as she had been. He looked at the floor, ashamed.

"I ran into a group of soldiers as I was leaving."

"You said you wouldn't get caught!" Natasha hissed.

"I knew that there was a chance I would be found. I just didn't want to worry Kattar."

Natasha sighed. She walked out of the box to grab a knife off the whip table. Returning, she cut down the teenager and he rubbed his wrists as he thanked her.

"If you don't mind…" He raised an eyebrow.

"Natasha."

"If you don't mind, Natasha, I'd like to get back to my family."

Natasha crossed her arms, huffing. "Not yet. While you're here, you can help me find my friend."

Something of panic crossed Cato's face and he shifted his feet.

"What, Cato?"

He looked up, sorrow in his eyes. Natasha held her breath.

"You friend is in Punishment?"

"Yes."

He paused. "I'm sorry."

Natasha swallowed and tried to stay calm. "Why are you sorry?"

"They brought in someone new before me. I understood that he was a new one, because those who have been here for months do not scream anymore. I'm sorry, I heard him scream. He screamed a lot. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologising!" Natasha almost shouted.

Cato jumped and Natasha took a deep breath, lowering her voice. "Where is he?"

"I do not know. There are many people in here."

"Then, Cato, we're not leaving until we find him."

More eyes leapt out of the dark at them as they snuck around the chamber. Almost human eyes. Probably human, but completely feral- animalistic. Pretty badly terrified, messed up, tortured. They were accompanied by shrill, whinnying shrieks and pleas from within the wooden boxes, and Natasha tried her best to ignore them. They came to a dead end, the wall covered in red scum and dirt.

"Split up." She muttered. "His name's Clint."

Cato nodded and stalked away. Natasha walked off in the opposite direction, hands sweating. She looked in every stall, not making eye contact with the frail corpses that stared hopefully up at her. She attempted to block the thought from her head, but it pushed in anyway: was Clint a sagged, beaten, poor example or a human being after his 'punishment'? Would he be skin and bone, broken, or… dead?

In one section, Natasha thought she had found him. The man who looked up at her was caked in dirt and blood, and his face had swollen so much that it was surely impossible to identify him. But his hair was sandy brown and his blue eyes stood out from the mud. She was about to take a shaky step forward when Cato called from somewhere,

"Oh, God! Natasha! Natasha, I've found him!"

She ran desperately to where his voice had come from. It took her into a box apart from the others, covered in thick red crosses. She froze in the doorway. Her heart was beating so fast she could barely hear Cato whispering at her to help.

Clint's wrists were bound to a wooden post. His shirt had been torn away and cast onto the floor. He was slumped on his knees, his head hanging, the ropes at his wrists the only things holding him up. He was facing away from Natasha, towards Cato, and she could see that his back was a sliced, raw, slab of meat. He was mumbling, slurring, over and over: Natasha, where's Natasha?

"Natasha!" Cato hissed. "Help me!"

She shook her head, gasped, and ran forwards. She grabbed Clint's arms as Cato cut the ropes. Clint slumped to the floor, Natasha's arms clasped tight around his torso. He moaned in pain and Natasha loosed her grip, muttering, 'sorry." They lay him on his side on the floor and Natasha brushed his fringe out of his face. His eyes were still closed, dark bruises forming around the sockets, and the laceration on his cheek, left by the twig, was coated in crusted blood.

"Clint?" She breathed, leaning her head on the floor beside his and stroking his face gently. "Clint, can you hear me?"

Over his shoulder, she could see Cato working away on his back. He was tipping a liquid from a duct-tape-wrapped bottle, into his palm and poking it along the inflamed whip strokes. Her eyes focussed then on the shoulder, the wounded shoulder. The bullet wound was swollen and red and seemed to be leaking.

Cato must had touched on an extremely painful stroke, because Clint's eyes shot open and he suddenly hissed, arching away from the boy and into Natasha. He frantically grabbed and clawed at Natasha's skin and clothes. His fingers ripped a tear into the hem of her vest and his fingers wound and knotted into the falling threads. His face was wet with tears and his throat was making the worst of guttural growls.

All he wanted was to be close to her and he knew the pain would go away.

He squeezed her shoulder so tightly that Natasha thought she was going to pass out. She roughly shook her arm away from him.

"Clint, calm down!" She urged, as Cato took a frightful glance towards the door. She knew what he was thinking: Clint's painful yells and cries could attract people they really couldn't deal with at that moment. Natasha pushed her hand over Clint's mouth and lowered her face to his, so their noses were touching.

"Clint Barton, if you do not shut up now, I swear to God, I will either leave you here to these monsters or I will kill you myself."

Clint stilled, his eyes wide and unblinking.

"I know it hurts." Her voice softened dramatically. "Baby, I know it does. But if you are loud, those men are going to come back and they will kill us. You hear me?"

He nodded. Natasha pulled him into a sitting position. He gasped and bit his fist, moaning.

"Better." Natasha gave him a fleeting smile and moved so she could find his jacket.

"What happened?" Clint croaked. His voice was harsh and quiet, and sounded like nails rattling in his throat. He rubbed his neck. Natasha tied his jacket around her waist and grasped his hands.

"You were taken from me. They hurt you pretty bad, Clint."

"I know. I can tell- my back is on fire."

"The lotion will soon help the stinging." Cato piped up from his lookout in the doorway. Clint turned his head to look up at him, paused, and then turned back to Natasha.

"Who's the kid?" He asked.

"I am not a _kid_. I am fourteen."

"His name's Cato. I _befriended _his sister. She was in the dungeon with me."

"Natasha Romanoff, making friends?!" Clint teased, a smile tugging at his tired face.

"Shut up." Natasha scoffed, and then kissed his forehead lightly. "It's good to see you, Barton."

"You too, baby."

"Lights! Natasha, someone is coming!"

Cato's terrified gasp tore Natasha's eyes away from Clint's. She shot to Cato's side and saw that, in the gap between the door and the concrete, the other side of the room, bouncing lights and shadows were getting closer. Before her, the corpse-like figures bound for eternity in Punishment, shied further back into their boxes. One even attempted to cover herself in what looked like sheets of weaved hay. All whimpered and curled up into balls, tucking their faces away.

The room was thick with fear.

Natasha ran back over to Clint. "We have to get out of here. Can you walk?"

"Haven't tried." He grumbled and gripped Natasha's arm for support, gentler this time. He pulled himself to his feet, groaning when his legs straightened fully, forcing his back to straighten with them. He paused for a moment, breathing heavily, before turning to Natasha.

"Okay?" She asked.

"Okay." He said, taking slow steps with her towards Cato. The boy sped ahead to press his ear against the door.

"This is bad. They are too close. It is too late for us to escape." His face dropped. Leaving Clint to struggle onwards, Natasha mirrored Cato, pressing her ear against the metal. She could hear voices and footsteps, closer by each passing second. She exhaled sharply, looking around her. Behind the swing-path of the door was another door. It was moulded into the wall so well that no commoner would notice it; except Natasha could clearly see the finger-width handle and the thin crack between the actual door and the wall. She smiled, an idea popping into her head.

"Cato," She grasped his shoulders. "Is there a key to this room?"

Cato's mouth hung open as he stammered.

"Cato!"

"Y-yes! But it is on a key-ring on the soldier's belts. You cannot get them unless one… removes their belt!"

Natasha bit her lip. "There is another way, but it's risky."

"Get the key off the key-ring itself." Clint said. He was now by their sides, clutching his lower back and limping. He was out-of-breath and sweating- the pain overwhelming his senses. His vision swam.

"Exactly, Clint. Hey, stay with me!"

Natasha slapped his face with the tips of her fingers and he shook his head, blinking rapidly. Natasha crouched low to the floor and, slowly, Clint and Cato followed. She leaned in, slipping her fingers through Clint's as she did so.

"Here's what we do…"


	4. Chapter 4

**Oh my god, this is so short. I can't apologize enough. Towards the end of this… can it be called a chapter? … my mind whittled out and I didn't know what to write. That's why the end is so balls. Very sorry. When my mind picks up again, I'll add more. Sorry for the wait.**

Cato's breath held in his throat so tight it ached. His fingers were curled tightly around the forearm of the bloody man beside him. In the dark, he could hear only the ragged breathing of his injured companion and the gentle countdown from the woman poised on the balls of her feet in front of them. The words rhythmically slid from her lips in a barely audible whisper. She was counting down from twenty and the light from the crack in the door and the wall illuminated the tips of her red hair. The other side of the door, shadows flickered and voices muttered, as a small group of people entered Room 13 from the hallway. One or two looked around somewhat suspiciously and their eyes passed over their hideout. Cato pressed further into the back wall, pulling Clint with him. Clint reached out for Natasha and she crawled backwards to him without even looking. The eyes of the soldiers did not hover on their spot and they turned away to face the others.

"Natasha…" Cato hissed, waiting for a signal. Natasha flung her finger into the air, signalling him to be quiet. He bit his lower lip. With a pointed exhale and a gentle squeeze of Clint's fingers, she whispered, "Three, two, one."

Then she swung the door open and slid out.

One man shouted out a warning, two aimed pistols at Natasha's head, another two stepped threateningly forward, and one stuttered backwards.

She smiled. She raised her hands to her head in surrender and smirked. She moved her hips as she shot like lightning towards an unarmed man and stepped close. Her breath flew over his face and she lowered her eyelids into a smoulder when his eyebrows rose. He coughed into his fist, his eyes not leaving hers, and she let out a low moan from the base of her throat. She spun away from him and turned to the others. Deliberately slowly, she gripped the bottom hem of her vest and fanned her stomach. Watching her looks and her figure and her body language, the two pistols were lowered and the men looked at her in awe.

Clint breathed a sigh of relief. Seduction was always tricky, one foot wrong and your cover was blown. As the guns hung limply at the men's sides, he knew Natasha was in.

She swayed a little more, giggled, even pressed herself close and stroked the nape of one's neck. Her hand wormed its way down the man's side and wound around his leather belt.

"Get ready." Cato said under his breath.

Her fingers twisted through the key ring and she used her nails to unpin the key. He smiled slowly into the man's face and chuckled. He frowned as she stepped backwards, all seductive façade gone. The suspicion of the six men began to rise again, as she grinned victoriously and leant on her hip.

"Thank you," She said, raising the key to her ear where it swung off her finger, "for your cooperation."

The soldiers had a second to react before Cato and Clint burst at them. Cato leapt onto a man's shoulders and dragged him to the floor; Clint swung his fist around until it connected with a cheekbone, and Natasha stood to the side with a smug expression. Seconds passed, and ended with six bodies limp on the floor at their feet. Both the man and the boy were breathing heavily and Clint looked like he was about to pass out. His knuckles were bleeding and when he moved to wipe the sweat from his brow, he smudged red along his hairline instead. Cato, however, was full of adrenaline. He was pumping his fists into the air and hopping on the spot, gasping out martial arts noises, mimicking another fight. His cheek was marked with three long scraps, left by the nails of a now unconscious man. Clint hobbled over the bodies to Natasha, almost falling into her arms. She straightened him up and tested his weak joints.

"You got the key then?" he asked.

"Mm-hmm. Now we need to get out of here."

The trio paced down the deserted corridor. It was silent, save for the muffled cries of those in Punishment and the mournful groan of the energy hum. They flattened their backs as best they could against the metal walls as voices wafted from the floor above them.

"We must get Kat!" Cato said, worry for his sister clear on his barely-teenage face.

"Who's Kat? Oh, wait, your friend, right?" Clint raised one eyebrow wonkily.

"Right." Natasha said. "Let's get her now, and then we really are leaving."

They made their way to the dungeon, where Clint slammed his bruised knuckles into the guard's nose and kicked him into a corner, and Cato unlocked the cell with the key from the man's belt. Kattar pelted forwards into her brother's arms and he swung her around.

"Natasha!" Kat cried over Cato's shoulder and pulled away, scurrying over to her and flinging her little arms around Natasha's neck. They greeted eachother in Russian and Natasha cupped her palm against the girl's cheek.

"You OK?" she asked.

"Of course I am." Kat smiled.

"Good girl."

Kat peered at Clint, who was slumped against the wall.

"Hello. You are Natasha's friend, yes?"

"You could say that." Clint chuckled. "Hey, Kiddo."

A grin lit up Kat's face as Clint beamed at her. Cato tugged on her hand and she turned to face him.

"Sister, we need to get out."

"Well, of course we do, Cato! This is place is what mama called a nightmare!"

Natasha laughed at the pure sass of the little girl. She rose from her crouch and helped Clint up. She held tight to his hand, as Kat did her brother's, and the four crept silently- as silently as they could manage with Clint's pain- up the dungeon stairs and back again into the dangers of the open corridors.


	5. Chapter 5

**Here's the next chapter, sorry about the wait. Also, sorry it's a bit of a wishy-washy chapter. Well, thanks for the reviews and all. I hope you liiiike. **

**Disclaimer: Never me...**

Natasha picked a battered torch from a pile of rubble in the corner. She bashed it once against the wall and then against the palm of her hand, twice. It flickered on and off before whittling out completely.

They had taken shelter in a small room off a corridor in what they could only assume was the east wing of the base. The room was square and tinny, low ceiling and uneven floors. With a shudder, Natasha was reminded of Clint's cell in Room 13.

Cato and Kat were perched in the far corner of the room. Cato was washing Kat's hands in a small puddle of water collected in a dip in the floor. Kat was rubbing dirt and dried blood out from under Cato's fingernails with a small piece of wood. Clint had found himself a nice spot in the centre of the room, slouched in a chair with only three legs. He balanced it riskily and sighed. His back and his legs were hurting him bad and Natasha's heart clenched each time she told him she could do nothing about it.

She threw the torch angrily back onto the pile and Clint looked up at the noise.

"What's wrong, Nat?"

"Nothing, Clint."

"Yes, there is." Clint said, fire behind his eyes.

"Come here." Natasha murmured, bringing him away from the children. He hobbled over to her.

"I don't think we can do this."

"Do what?"

"Get out of here... alive."

Clint grabbed her shoulders roughly. "No, Natasha, don't say that. Of course we will. You'll save the day. You always do." He said with a smirk, but its humour didn't reach Natasha. It all but made her more nervous- more paranoid because everyone was depending on her. Her eyes moved around the room and lingered on the brother and sister. He was combing her knotted her with his fingers, and she was smiling as he hummed a Russian lullaby. Natasha's throat closed as she watched them. She had to get them out. No doubt about it. She had to.

Kat's smiled dropped as quickly as it came. Cato's hand snatched back from her tangled locks and curled into a fist. Clint swept Natasha behind him and stared at the door. Kreiptkof and another soldier were stood there, feet side apart, hands on hips, eyes wide and menacing. Kreiptkof chuckled and waltzed forward.

"Where do you think you are going?" He sneered. "Escaping? No, no you are not." His smile widened, teeth grey and long. "Did you really think I would let you escape when you mean so much to me?"

"What?" Clint muttered through a clenched jaw.

"Well, you are very important to me. To me, to my organisation, to my plan."

"Plan?"

"Why, to destroy S.H.E.I.L.D, of course!" Kreiptkof laughed loudly throwing his hands in the air; Natasha flinched. "They have caused me so much pain over the years, I and my family. My father died protecting my family from them! Now, I will give them pain. You two will attack from the weakest point- inside the heart."

"And if we refuse?"

"You will not refuse." Kreiptkof smiled eerily. Clint backed into Natasha's body and gripped her hands.

"You won't take us."

The soldier in the doorway cocked his gun and Natasha heard Kat let out a small whimper. Kreiptkof turned his gaze to the children huddled in the corner.

"_You_." He hissed, spotting Cato, who jumped up and all but kicked his sister behind his legs. They stared eachother down for a few seconds, before the man gestured to his companion. The soldier stomped forwards, pointing one pistol at Natasha and Clint, and one at Cato. He beat off flying fists from Cato and held the boy in a headlock, staring down at Kat. He scowled down at the girl, flicking the gun in a hint to stand. She did and he clasped the back of her neck. He dragged the two out of the room before Natasha could call out.

"Bring them back!" She gasped, pulling against Clint's hands around her arms.

"They are not necessary to my plan."

"They are _children_. Bring them back!" Natasha ripped away from Clint and tore into Kreiptkof, tackling him into the wall and scratching at his face. He yelped under her and twisted her over and into the floor. Clint's feet thumped into his back and pushed him off Natasha. The man leapt up and connected his fist into Clint's jaw. When Clint spun away from the punch, Kreiptkof took the chance to rack his hands across his back. Clint cried out and fell to the floor, Natasha roundhouse-kicked Kreiptkof in the neck and he stumbled away. Clint's groan took her attention for a split second, and before she knew it, a cool blade pressed against the skin of her neck.

"I'm afraid the plan _will _work with only him. Apologies." Kreiptkof whispered at her ear.

As the blade of the knife ran its way along the top layer of skin on her neck, it was ripped away and clattered against the far wall. Kreiptkof leapt behind Natasha, pulling her until she was pressed against him and his fist was clasped around her neck. From the corner of her eye, Natasha watched Clint back up again the wall in shock, then relax rapidly. Confusion crossed her mind and, frustratingly, she couldn't see from the awkward position her head was being tugged in.

"Put her down." A deep voice commanded and Natasha's jaw dropped.

"Steve?!"

"Rogers!" called a metallic voice, the whoosh of repulsors rumbling through Natasha's stomach, and debris caught in the breeze fluttering around her legs.

"And who might you be?" Kreiptkof sneered.

"I'm Captain America. And you're screwed."

"'Screwed'? I don't…"

Kreiptkof's baffled stammer cut short with a blast to the ear, a bright white explosion that propelled him backwards and into the wall. Natasha stumbled and gasped for air, the strong hands of Steve Rogers clasping her shoulders and steadying her. She whipped her head around, expecting a furious German, and was relieved when she saw he was unconscious and practically snoring. She almost sunk, exhausted, into Steve's arms when she remembered Clint. She knelt beside him and forced him to look up at her.

"Hey! You OK?" He smirked, pushing himself heavily off the floor. He smudged the drops blood on her neck with his thumb.

"We gotta scram, guys. There's a hell of a lot of troops making their way here as we speak." Tony warned, waltzing through a rugged hole in the wall, iron-clad in his suit. Natasha hadn't even seen him leave after he blasted Kreiptkof in his dirty face. Steve nodded once and moved aside to give Natasha and Clint a clear path to the tunnel scooped out of the red brick.

"Take the first left when you get out there, and run 'till you're on the balcony. Thor and Coulson are manning a jet. Gotta be quick, though." Steve handed Natasha a fully-loaded pistol, of which she cocked and ran her fingers around. Clint looked expectantly at the super-soldier.

"Sorry, buddy." Steve shrugged. "No bow."

Clint swore under his breath and sighed exaggeratedly. "_Fine._ You got another gun?" Steve produced another from his belt and passed it to Clint, who scowled down at the weapon as if it was a dead mouse he found in a jar of curry sauce. Natasha shot him a deal-with-it glare and he huffed, throwing his arm to his side, gun clasped in his fist. Tony peered out of the passage.

"This is our chance, gang."

Steve rolled his eyes at Tony's choice of words and hovered behind him. The swarm of battle troops outside was rapidly approaching and the corridor facing them was, at that moment, deserted.

"He's right. I'll go first. Widow, you follow. Stay low and stick to the wall. Barton, you next. I know you're hurting, but you gotta move over it and push on. Got it? Stark, watch our backs. Anyone gets too close… turn them to dust."

Tony flashed a winning grin. "Yeeees, Captain!" He clanged his fingers against his helmet in a sloppy, iron salute. Cap climbed silently over the low, battered wall of bricks, and scanned sideways. He made a quick gesture towards Natasha to follow, and she did. She stayed close to his back, knees bent, fists clenched. Glancing once back at the somewhat nervous face of Clint, she snuck after the soldier. A few seconds later, the scuffing of heavy footsteps appeared behind her and the gentle ringing of metal on stone after that.

"Wait, how the hell did you know we were here?" Natasha paused in her step and a warm body bumped into her back.

"No time for a Q & A, Romanoff." Stark hissed from behind them all.

She turned to glare at him over Clint's shoulder. "Can it, Stark. Steve?"

Steve's cheeks blushed under his mask. "Clint called."

"Clint… called?"

"Yeah. He… called… Coulson?" Steve squeaked, confused she didn't know.

Natasha's eyes widened and she spun to Clint, snapping, "You _did_ call him?! Why didn't you tell me?!" She swiftly punched his shoulder.

Clint raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, don't hit me! I haven't really had a chance to explain have I?!"

"Well, explain… now."

Clint sighed, rubbing his shoulder and then his tired eyes. Behind him, Iron Man's helmet creaked open and Tony glanced around impatiently.

"He picked up just as they caught us on the island. Obviously, I couldn't say anything, so I just… let him listen."

"That still doesn't tell me how he knew where we were."

"Natasha, can we please sort this over later?!" Steve urged. Natasha grunted and pushed past him to storm off down the corridor. He took that as a yes.


End file.
